Jezebel
by gidgetgirl
Summary: The priest calls her Jezebel, her father calls her Devil Spawn, and six year old Drusilla just wishes the visions would go away for good. Rated R for disturbing content. COMPLETE!


DISCLAIMER: Joss owns all.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's short.  It's cryptic.  It's angsty.  It's Drusilla at age six.  If you've been waiting to read one of my other stories, I'm sorry, but it's finals time and I won't have time to update for another week or so.  This wants to be written, and so I'm going to write it.

Fair warning… there's disturbing content and no fluff.

Jezebel by Gidgetgirl

            Her mummy was looking for the candles.  It was getting ready to be dark, and Father would want the candles. 

 Drusilla wasn't scared of the dark.  She was a big girl, and even in the pitch black the lights shined brightly.

            NO.  She shook her head, pushing the lights out of her mind, the voices out of her head.  The lights were evil.  The voices were the devil.  Devil spawn.  Hadn't they told her to be good?  Hadn't her father told her not see?  Hadn't his belt told her?

            Again.  And again.  And again.

            _I'll be good, Daddy.  I'll be good, Father.  I promise, I do._

            "Candles," her mother muttered, worry entering her voice.  Father would be home soon, and mother had better find the candles.

            The voices whispered in her ears, and she saw the candles, fallen behind a shelf in the tiny, rotting pantry.  How had they gotten there?  She played with the tips of her long, black hair.  "In the pantry, Mummy," she said, in a sing song tone her mother recognized.  "The candles are in the pantry."

            She heard the crunch of his boots on the floor before she saw him, before she felt his hand grip her shoulder.  "How do you know they're there, Drusilla?" he asked her, his voice deep and musical.

            To her, he was the voice of God.

            "I remember," the little girl said, faltering, her eyes gone wild.  "I remember, Father."

            "Thou shalt not lie, Drusilla," her father said sternly.  "Thou shalt not suffer a witch," he said, his voice losing all expression.

            "I didn't mean to, Daddy," the child stammered.  "I didn't mean to see it."

            Her father considered her solemnly.  "It's the devil in you," he murmured.  He caressed her hair.  "The devil in my little girl."  His hand tightened around her long black locks, and he dragged her into the other room to beat the devil out of his small angel for good.

            "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," the girl said, her voice childish and high, her eyes swollen and her body stiff with new welts.  "It has been three days since my last confession."

            She could feel his breath on her face, warm and sticky.  There would be penance, and maybe this time, the voices, the lights, would go away for good.

            The voices whispered.  He was going to touch her again.  She tried not to see the lights, honest, but she could see it in the stars that weren't shining inside the church.  

He was going to make her pure with his fingers.  Over her.   Inside of her.    

            She-devil.  Devil spawn child.  Jezebel.  

            He came out of the box, like she knew he would, like the lights had told her he would, and she closed her eyes.  She could feel his hands, all over her.

            "You want to be a good girl, don't you, Drusilla?" the priest murmured, his voice low.

            "Yes," she said softly.  If only she hadn't spoken before about the candles.  Father wouldn't have made her come here, with knees already bruised from hours of forced prayer on hard ground.  She wouldn't be here, with the fingers of God.  She closed her eyes.  

            "Jezebel," the priest muttered.

            Her small body trembled, and she begged the lights, begged them to take her away, or else to stop talking to her at all.

            She saw him then, her white prince, her toy, her boy, her man.  He needed her.  Only she could make him strong.  She would be his princess, and Daddy- not Father- Daddy who loved her, would she be his princess too?

            The waves of light faded from her eyes, and she was back in the small room.

            "How old are you, Drusilla?" the priest asked, looking at her with mercy in his eyes.  It had never happened.  

Devil Spawn.

            "Six, Father," the child said dutifully.

            He ducked down to her height and for the moment, she was afraid that there would be fingers again.  "Old enough, child," he said soothingly, "to banish the devil that gives you these visions."  He gripped her shoulders with hands –not fingers- hands.  "You must, child, before you tempt darkness into our homes, into your heart.  You invite it, and you know not the danger."  He looked at her evenly before he made his final degree.  "You will bring death and destruction to us all if you do not."

            He would not be the priest for long, the lights said.  There would be a nicer man, with blood on his neck, blood that would be, but wisely, she said nothing.  

            She wanted to be a good girl.

I KNOW, I know… dreadfully depressing, and not my usual fluffiness. Let me know what you think.  PLEASE REVIEW!


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